I saw her amid the dunghill debris Looking for things Such as an old pair of shoes or gaiters. She was a young woman, A tinker's wife. Her face had streaks of care Like wires across it, But she was supple As a young goat On a windy hill.
She searched on the dunghill debris, Tripping gingerly Over tin canisters And sharp-broken Dinner plates.
I saw her amid the dunghill debris Looking for things Such as an old pair of shoes or gaiters. She was a young woman, A tinker's wife. Her face had streaks of care Like wires across ..."
A lovely early Patrick Kavanagh poem. I'm a great fan of his poetry and prose.
I saw her amid the dunghill debris
Looking for things
Such as an old pair of shoes or gaiters.
She was a young woman,
A tinker's wife.
Her face had streaks of care
Like wires across it,
But she was supple
As a young goat
On a windy hill.
She searched on the dunghill debris,
Tripping gingerly
Over tin canisters
And sharp-broken
Dinner plates.
Patrick Kavanagh